


I Who Have Nothing

by hellostarlight20



Series: Tentoo x Rose [4]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, First Christmas Together, dw secret santa, guest starring: Tommy Connolly's grandson, with a bit of Christmas angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5449241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellostarlight20/pseuds/hellostarlight20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s TenToo and Rose’s first Christmas together. Title from the song of the same name by Tom Jones. I believe I got all 4 prompts into this one! (OK, #2 is an honorable mention.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It’s Christmas Time in the City

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shutupandlovetennant (Adams1422)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adams1422/gifts).



> This is a DW Secret Santa fic for shutupandlovetennant. Thank you spacemomnephmoreau for the awesome beta!
> 
> Prompts!  
> 1) Doctor/Rose at a Christmas party of some kind. The Doctor jealous and pouting because someone is hitting on Rose.  
> 2) The Doctor and Rose having Christmas at Jackie's (with tree decorating! :D)  
> 3) The Doctor and Rose's first Christmas together as a proper couple.  
> 4) Fanart (or fic, if you like) of Ten and Rose making heart eyes at each other over hot cocoa  
> <3  
> NSFW Spec: Hell yeah! I prefer smut. No gore, non-con, or violence, please!

They haven’t any time to settle in. Not properly. Because right after his beachfront confession— _I love you, Rose Tyler_ —and finding their, rather slow, way off a deserted beach, out of Norway, and back into England, it was all paperwork and identities and names.

_Names._ He had to pick a _name_. One other people might call him.

But not Rose. She called him Doctor. Always. Forever. (Which was considerably shorter now. Forever equaled a single, human lifespan—or perhaps not. Just one life, for someone with his unique genetics could be a lot longer than _a single human lifespan_. And Rose’s lifespan might be just as long, what with the TARDIS and the Vortex and Bad Wolf and really—there was just no telling how long forever would be.)

He did not choose John Smith. He thought about it. And then chose John Tyler.

Plus, he thought he’d save time later. He thought Jackie wouldn’t push. Which may have been naïve, but the Doctor didn’t care and neither had Rose which was all that mattered.

Rose gave him a soft look of adoration and slipped her hand into his. In her (their) tiny flat she leaned her head against his shoulder and clung to his hand—or he clung to hers. But did that really matter?

“Are you sure?” She shifted on the sofa and stretched her legs over his lap.

The Doctor grinned goofily at her and brought her closer. Her warmth spread through him, not just soothing his body, but easing the constant tension gripping his heart. The fear that even after that beach kiss, she might leave. Or kick him out.

“About the name?” He shrugged but sighed against her. “I don’t care about the name. That means nothing to me. I can put down John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt—”

“Dear God, _please_ don’t!” Rose pulled back in horror.

He grinned down at her. “But it won’t matter.”

The Doctor kissed her slowly, brought her flush against him until she straddled his hips and that delicious warmth of hers warmed every part of him. From the inside out. Cupped her bum and brought her _closer_ and deepened the kiss. And yes he wanted her. Wanted her more than anything, his next breath.

Rose pulled back just enough to speak. “Why not?” The words sounded breathless against his mouth and her chest heaved.

The Doctor bumped his nose against hers, found her mouth again. “I don’t care what anyone calls me. Only you.”

“Doctor,” she breathed and it was all the promise he needed.

Rose looked flushed and aroused and he wanted nothing more than to spread her on their bed and spend the next forever worshipping her. He managed to suppress a smug grin.

But they’d only been together—in this universe, in this flat—for a week. He didn’t want to rush. Then again they had years together of not rushing then years apart of regrets and fantasies (well he had, he hoped she did as well) and so many imaginings of how life could have been. Should be.

When was it considered acceptable to take the next step?

The next day she shyly suggested they find a pair of matching rings. She was the genius in their relationship, after all.

“Don’t you want a wedding?” He poured her coffee and stared hard at her.

Whether he looked for a trap or confirmation he didn’t know, but the Doctor was new to relationships and wasn’t entirely certain how they progressed. Well…he knew the steps. Meet, fall in love, marry, children, house…

No wait. Was there living together first?

So...meet, fall in love, live together, marry...

They did that all backwards, didn’t they. Meet—check. Lived together—check. Fell in love—check but maybe that should go side-by-side with living together. (Or meeting, it was difficult for the Doctor to separate meeting Rose Tyler and falling in love with her.)

He shuddered. No, he didn’t think he was the proper-relationship-step kind of man.

Rose snorted and opened the jam for him. “No. I absolutely do not want a wedding. I don’t want to pick out music or colors, and I _certainly_ don’t want to figure out whom to invite.”

“I am not opposed to this, Rose,” he said slowly. “But—”

“Doctor.” She took his hand in one of hers and cupped his cheek with the other. “Are you leaving me?”

“What?” Horrified, he jerked back, fumbled with the coffee mug and hastily set it on the table. Eyes wide, and cold, so very cold down to his very soul. “No!”

“I’m not leaving you, either.”

He remembered how to breathe then and willed his heart to slow. He nodded jerkily and blinked down at her. Rose offered a half smile and stepped closer, her delicious human warmth easing the frozen fear.

“Committed, yeah?”

The Doctor let out a slow chuckle and gathered her close. Rested his cheek atop hers. “Yeah. Always. I’ve loved you since we met, Rose Tyler. I’m afraid I don’t live very well without you.”

“I can live without you,” she said slowly and looked up at him. Held him tighter. “But I never want to again.”

“Never again,” he promised and held her. Simply held her.

Felt her heart beat against his and her breath warm his chest through his shirts. The press of her fingertips beneath his suit jacket and the sound of her contented sigh as they stood there and were...just were.

Okay, so maybe they didn’t pick up right where they left off, but really. No time to settle in. And the snuggling was the same. Always up for a good cuddle, him. And Rose was warm and human and she smelled amazing.

Despite the name change and the rings (which were perfect and frankly the Doctor didn’t understand why they hadn’t decided to do something so obviously symbolic about their relationship ages ago) they hadn’t time to, well, to...do much of anything else.

_“Christmas.”_ He watched several workers continue to decorate the shop’s front windows. “How is it already Christmas?”

“I hear ya, mate,” a woman said from beside him. “Seems like it’s summer one minute, then school’s starting and bam. Christmas.”

The Doctor looked down at the woman, shopping bags loading her down, winter coat unbuttoned in the sudden warmth of the midday sun. A breeze flicked the ends of her fashionable scarf. He took all that in but noticed none of it.

“It’s our first Christmas together,” the Doctor said, stunned.

She smiled up at him, her sharp brown eyes softening. “Good on you, mate. Planning something special?”

Special? Maybe a day to themselves? A day without Rose at Torchwood or him in the archives or either of them carefully cultivating Baby TARDIS.

“Oh yes,” he heard himself say. Felt his grin widen. Bounced on his toes.

“I’m sure she...he?”

“Rose.”

The woman smiled wider. (Probably at the goofy grin on his face.) “I’m sure Rose’ll love it.”

“Yeah.” The Doctor glanced between the woman and the Christmas-decorated window— _it was still November, right? For a couple days more yeah?_ —and nodded. “Thanks.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away. His original stop was the hydroponics shop two blocks over. But that could wait. Or no. No, maybe not.

The Doctor stopped on the corner and quickly went through his options. The only time he and Rose spent together (doing anything but sleeping and cuddling which was amazing but still) was in the spare bedroom with Baby TARDIS.

Rose seemed as excited as he to watch Her grow.

Spinning back on his white chucks, he turned for the hydroponics shop again. Plus...he needed at least another few minutes to sort out a plan.

He was great at planning. Fantastic even. And he’d plan a Christmas surprise for Rose that rivaled the Most Christmassy of Christmas Surprises.

********  
The Doctor was _excellent_ at planning. When in a life or death situation or when worlds hung in the balance or when his mind zipped through a hundred possibilities and he planned his way to safety.

Long term planning seemed too much like domestics. Which, he supposed, now firmly defined his life. And wasn’t that just wizard.

Stealing the TARDIS? Spur of the moment. There was no premeditated plan in _stealing the TARDIS_. Taking Susan? Well, not quite...no who was he fooling. Totally spur of the moment there.

The High Council wanted her for reasons he never did figure out and so he grabbed her hand and dragged her away and they escaped. Without one thought to a plan. Or what a plan might be, frankly.

In the nearly forgotten basement of Touchwood, the Doctor frowned at the hundred year old paper work no one bothered to computerize and tried to reconcile it with what it claimed was, for all intents and purposes, a spark plug. Typical.

Half his mind on sorting through Torchwood’s Archives, because really, he only needed half his still impressive Time Lord Mind, the other half tried to sort out the perfect surprise (read: plan) for Christmas with Rose.

Recreate a previous Christmas?

Hmm, Gelth and Dickens, and while he wouldn’t mind seeing Charles Dickens again in this universe Baby TARDIS was nowhere near ready to travel and the Doctor did so dislike repeating himself.

Invasions and regeneration? No. If he wanted an invasion, they’d be working for Torchwood fulltime.

Had he really only spent two Christmases with Rose? Seemed impossible, since he had so many wonderful, happy memories of her. With her.

Maybe he ought to ask Jackie...

Before the thought even finished the Doctor dismissed it. No. Absolutely not. This was his and Rose’s first Christmas _together_. His and Rose—not the Time Lord Doctor and Rose, but his and Rose’s first Christmas together. First Christmas as a real couple.

The Doctor had no real desire to hear Jackie go on and on about them spending Christmas here or missing a family Christmas or whatever.

And while he genuinely adored Jackie, he didn’t want to spend his and Rose’s first real, true Christmas with her.

“Doctor.”

He did not jerk and startle in a haphazard circle. Nope. Time Lords did not startle. Or jerk wildly in uncoordinated flailing. But he did clench the not-spark plug tighter and perhaps crinkled the hundred year old notes in his other hand.

“Rose.” He leaned down and kissed her, a soft press of lips in greeting.

Rose sighed into the kiss and leaned against him. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her against him and deepened the kiss, mindful not to let the machine dig into Rose but utterly uncaring what happened to those papers.

They were wrong anyway and should be burned. Besides, the only reason he agreed to sort through the archives was to requisition _(read: take)_ parts for Baby TARDIS.

And suddenly, with Rose’s tongue a gentle sweep against his, the Doctor knew exactly how their first Christmas should be spent.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered against her mouth.

“Lunch.” But Rose didn’t pull back and didn’t look as if she planned to do so anytime in the next millennia.

Perfectly all right with him.

Her left hand combed through his hair, purposely he knew so he could feel the cool metal of their wedding bands against his skin. He loved that feel. Honestly, Rose truly was a genius.

“Hmm?” He nipped at her lip.

“Hiding,” Rose amended.

The Doctor pulled back and frowned. “From who?” He narrowed his eyes. Tensed, ready to run if need be… and they usually needed to. “Or what?”

But Rose shook her head and held up her bag. Not her tiny wrist purse where she kept all of five items, but the larger bag she used for Torchwood stuff—notes and photos and files and stuff. Only then did the Doctor smell the tempting tastes of Thai.

“Ohh, lunch already?”

He dropped the machine back into its wrongly marked box and shoved it into the back. It was broken anyway. He’d get to it later. Much later.

“Have you given any thought to Pete’s proposal?” Rose asked far too innocently for his liking.

The Doctor looked up even as he shoved papers and other bits and bobs off the long (very sturdy, not that he spent anytime, none whatsoever, testing its sturdiness in case he and Rose… well… anyway…) wooden table he used as his workbench. Frowning he took the takeaway from her and opened it the bag.

“The one where he wants us to cave to Jackie’s demands for a ‘proper wedding’?” The Doctor grimaced. “Or the one where he wants me full time in Torchwood?” He grimaced harder.

Rose only sighed. “The second.”

About to answer, he looked harder at Rose. Once upon a TARDIS she hadn’t been able to keep any secrets from him. Or hadn’t wanted to. But the years had been long and though the Doctor felt as if he knew her better than he had before, he always felt as if she held something back. Kept a secret locked in her heart.

(His first thought was, always, that she preferred the fully Time Lord him, but he had no way to prove that. Nor did he want to. Just in case it was true.)

“No.”

She tilted her head and slowly smiled. “No you haven’t given it more thought or no you don’t want to work for Torchwood fulltime?”

“Both.” He nodded decisively and grabbed her by the waist.

She laughed, a shout of pure joy at his sudden move, and willingly straddled his lap. Oh, perfection thy name is Rose Tyler. She sank against him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers teasing his hair at the nape of his neck. Mouth open to his.

His hands cupped her bum and brought her flush against him. The soft heat of her beckoned him but he resolutely did not thrust up against her. Still, he was hard, always was (always had been around her, let’s face facts) and knew she felt his arousal.

“Doctor,” she murmured lips on his once again. He felt her smile, heard the soft catch of breath, the sigh of acceptance and warmth and love.

He slowed the kiss, stretched it out until everything slowed around them. Not quite the slowing of Time he used to do (and oh how he regretted not making love to Rose when he could fully slow time to a fraction of its racing speed, the better to taste and touch and make love to her).

Rose arched against him. One hand cupped the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair. The other spread over the wonder that is Rose Tyler’s bum and the Doctor will never, ever, take for granted the fact he could touch her magnificent bum any time he pleased.

Pulling back just enough to see her, the Doctor brushed aside several strands of hair that came loose from her ponytail. His fingers lingered on her cheeks, the soft flush of arousal warming the skin beneath his touch.

With every touch they shared, every kiss no matter how quick or deep or lingering, he wanted more and more to run away with her.

His love. His mate in every sense of the word. His Rose.

“Do you want to work here?”

“I don’t know.” Rose cleared her throat and climbed off him, shifted to the second chair.

The Doctor frowned at her move, but said nothing. He had, after all, confiscated a second chair solely for her use. No one else was allowed to sit in it, even those few visitors he had in the forgotten archives.

And, yes fine, eating while on his lap was not the easiest way to enjoy Thai.

Still.

He missed her. His body missed her. And that only reinforced his desire to spend this Christmas (and every single other one ever) with her. Preferably wrapped around each other in a sweaty messy tangle of nakedness.

“What do you want, Rose?”

Her head jerked up and those beautifully changeable eyes stared at him. The Doctor loved her eyes, loved the way they looked golden or a deep green or a light brown-hazel; how they shifted with the sunlight or darkened when she was passionate.

What color would they be when they finally made love? The Doctor couldn’t wait to find out.

She played with her earring, the same gold hoops he bought her after their very first trip. They were nearly identical to the ones she wore from Earth, one of which she lost while trying to survive an expanding sun’s deadly rays. They found them on the Great Indoor Bazaar of Maallems and he bought them without so much as a second thought or a whiff of regret.

Far as he knew, she never took them off. (And if that made him smirk a little in pride, well...)

“I don’t know,” she said slowly.

He put down the container of Gaeng Daeng and waited. Though Rose’s gaze lingered on his, the Doctor knew she didn’t really see him. She looked inside herself and for the first time since landing here (arriving?) he realized no one ever asked her that.

Oh, he was an idiot. A thick headed idiot. A thick headed idiotic spaceman.

“Rose?” He took her hand and threaded their fingers together. His right to her left and once more felt the press of her wedding band into his skin.

And was it so wrong he felt a thrill at her ring’s touch?

“I don’t know,” she repeated. “No one’s ever asked me that.”

It felt as if she kicked him in the stomach. All the air left his lungs and the Doctor sagged at the realization even he—both he’s—hadn’t asked her. What she wanted. Who she wanted.

And for the first time since his beachfront confession of _I love you, Rose Tyler_ , the Doctor thought maybe that wasn’t enough.

Oh, he was genius at talking himself out of everything good and pure in his life wasn’t he?

Rose blinked and focused on him. Squeezed his fingers. “I don’t know. It was all I’m trapped here, then it was working for Torchwood so I don’t go mad here. Then the stars...and the cannon and finding you. And then...”

Rose shook her head and sucked in a shaky breath of a sob. “I don’t know what I want to do.”

The Doctor licked his lips and nodded. Just once. All his plans (or half-formed ideas) for the Best Christmas Ever pushed to the background.

“Do you want to work at Torchwood?”

She slowly shook her head. “No. No I don’t think I do. I love it here, but now that Mickey’s gone—” She cut herself off. “He and Jake were the only two who knew my story, who knew the truth of who I was, who we were, and where we came from. Now I’m Rose Tyler, boss’s newfound daughter. Or Rose Tyler, heiress. Or Rose Tyler, gossip page queen.”

“Who do you want to be?” He asked and carefully doled out their lunch, one handed.

Time Lord Ambidextrous, after all.

Rose looked at their joined hands and shrugged.

“All right, what do you want to do?” The Doctor asked instead. He gently untangled their hands and pushed plastic utensils toward her.

And debated asking her if he’d been a tad presumptuous in agreeing to wear wedding bands without a discussion on the consequences and certainly without a ceremony. Did she want a ceremony?

Okay, yes, fine, it was her idea, but still...he hadn’t even _asked_!

Then again, the look on Rose’s face when they chose their rings, all shocked-happy-loving surprise, was forever burned into his brain.

Presumptuous perhaps, but perfection.

“I want to travel again. I’m good at my job,” she added fiercely. “I’m _better_ than good. I’m _fantastic_ at my job. But I want to see this world. Do you know I’ve only ever been to seventeen alien crash sights? Not a landmark, not a museum, not a walk in a park or up a mountain or by a river. Nothing.”

The Doctor blinked at her, stunned. In these last weeks all he talked about was Baby TARDIS and work. Aliens and adventures he had without her. (Not for lack of trying to find a way back to her, mind.)

Of the differences in their history and this world’s history. Or the aliens she met and the treaties they forged and if or how those aliens differed from what he knew.

Of how he missed her.

Holding her tight at night in their bed as they talked, he told her he missed her more than anything. He missed her smile and her laugh and the way her eyes brightened at him. He missed her hand in his and her head on his shoulder and the way she made him tea. He missed her so much he honestly didn’t think he’d survive without her.

“Eat up,” he said abruptly. “We’re going to the British Museum.” He nodded and grinned. “Nothing like starting there and working our way around London, eh?”

“What?” Rose asked, a bite of curry chicken halfway to her mouth. “Now?”

“Oh yes, Rose Tyler.” He paused and grinned goofily at her. “My Rose Tyler.”

Her smile was slow and happy and lighted her entire face. His goal had always been to see her smile every minute of every day. That certainly hadn’t changed.

“How many museums do you think we can see in a month?” He asked and eagerly dug into his own chicken.

“In London?” she asked around a bite. “Or England? What’re our parameters? The UK?”

He shrugged. “The Earth.”

Rose’s laugh bounced off the dusty, forgotten basement of Torchwood Tower. And made the Doctor even more determined to show her the Best Christmas Ever.


	2. The Christmas Party

Four weeks was not a lot of time to _plan_. He wanted things perfect. He didn’t want to disappoint Rose, not in this, their first Christmas together.

He had the end parts planned: the making love to Rose until neither of them could move plan. It was the surrounding bits he had trouble with. Like the where and when and whether to bother to give notice to Torchwood or not.

The Doctor almost broke down and asked Jackie for help. He seriously debated the merits of asking Jake, but couldn’t bring himself to admit anything personal to the other man. His single heart seized in his chest when Rose cautiously introduced him to new medical recruit Doctor Martha Jones and though he did debate asking her advice, he ultimately chickened out.

He hadn’t ruined her life in this world and didn’t much care to do so to a woman he considered a good friend.

When he said as much to Rose, he broke down and confessed everything to her. The Master and the truth about Jack. The year that never was and the horror Martha endured to right his wrongs and keep Earth—the entire universe—safe.

Rose held him, let him wrap around her and simply held him. She didn’t push, though she had, of course, recognized Martha from their trip in the TARDIS. Simply held him and kissed him quietly. 

“I’m here,” she promised. “I’m here, Doctor.”

As much as the Doctor thought Martha might be excellent at helping in his quest to plan the Best Christmas Ever, he resolutely stayed away from her.

Pete made the Doctor’s list of potential helpers but just as he decided to forge ahead, the Doctor remembered Pete’s devotion to Jackie. More importantly he remembered Jackie’s uncanny ability to sniff out a secret.

Seriously why she didn’t work for Torchwood, the Doctor would never understand.

So it was, on the evening of Vitex’s Annual Christmas Gala, he decided that maybe asking Jackie’s advice about Christmas surprises wasn’t the worst idea he ever had.

He was a desperate man.

Desperate enough to allow himself to be cornered by Jackie at the gala as she demanded to know what his plans were for Christmas. One might think this was the perfect opening for the Doctor. One might think that Jackie asking about Christmas plans was perfect to insert he wanted to plan something special for Rose.

One might think so had one not seen the predatory look in Jackie’s eyes.

No. No, he wouldn’t be asking Jackie for advice on what to get Rose. Never mind the rest of it.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Jackie, but that he wanted to keep this Christmas between the two of them. After his conversation with Rose over Thai and Torchwood and their day wandering the British museum, he made it a point to ask _Rose_ what she wanted.

That did not include asking her mum.

But he heard himself agreeing with Jackie that they’d visit the mansion next Sunday and join in what was apparently a tradition of decorating the Christmas tree.

The Doctor grabbed a glass of champagne and loaded an entirely too fancy plastic plate with enough nibbles to keep even him occupied for five minutes and searched the room for Rose. She went off with Pete for an impromptu conference about something that happened at Torchwood this afternoon and that was when Jackie cornered him.

Frowning, he scanned the room, but the ballroom was packed. Not the mansion—apparently Pete learned his lesson and hadn’t a gathering larger than family at the house since their first meeting.

Tastefully decorated in red and gold with an orchestra playing instrumental Christmas music in the background, the ballroom of whatever hotel they were in shone with wealth and Christmas spirit. No Christmas trees, however. Which didn’t surprise him, given Jackie’s experience with killer trees. But did make him wonder why they decorated a tree at their home.

Dismissing trees, decorations, and Jackie, the Doctor closed his eyes and focused on the sound of Rose’s voice. The beat of the heart he so loved.

His Time Lord Senses were mostly still Time Lord and while he might not be able to slow time or regenerate or see in the literal entirety of the color spectrum, he could still pick out the love of his life (lives, let’s be real) by the beat of her heart.

Or the echoing sound of her laughter.

The Doctor’s eyes snapped open and he looked in the direction of Rose’s laugh. A light, honest sound that sent a spark of jealousy through him.

Maybe slightly more than a spark…  
(Raging inferno was only a minor exaggeration.)

Balancing the dish and glass in one hand, he popped a nibble—mini cheesesteak wrap? Delicious!—in his mouth and made his way toward Rose.

Back to him, she stood with a group of people he didn’t know. The sparkling silver floor-length gown hugged her figure and accentuated her truly magnificent hips and bum until he wanted to gouge out the eyes of every being who looked her way.

He almost tore it off her while they got ready, but (somehow) restrained himself.

Now he wished he hadn’t—restrained himself that was. Because if he’d spread her over the bed and spent hours making love with her as he wanted, they wouldn’t be here. They’d still be wrapped around each other. And Rose wouldn’t be talking to that man with her tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth and her laughter echoing over the room.

The Doctor popped another mini cheesesteak into his mouth and swallowed the champagne in one go.

Rose turned slightly toward the man to her left. The tall, handsome man with perfect brown hair and perfect smile and interest the Doctor spotted at fifty paces.

Raging inferno of jealousy? No, it was far, far worse than that. It churned in his gut and made the recently swallowed champagne burn unpleasantly in his throat. The plate splintered in his hand and the stem of the glass champagne flute cracked between his fingertips.

The Doctor barely noticed.

“Sir? Sir?”

He turned blindly to look at the kid trying to get his attention. _“What?”_

“You’re bleeding, sir.”

The Doctor glanced at his hand, bloody and covered in grease and bits of food, but didn’t much care. He dumped what was left of the glass and plate on the empty tray the kid held and turned his gaze back to Rose.

The man leaned down to say something to Rose. Leaned down? Leaned over her as if trapping her. Or cocooning her which was worse. And Rose, well, she merely looked up at him with that wide smile and tilted her head to the side and—

_Flirted_ with him!

“Sir!”

The Doctor looked down at the kid again. He looked exasperated and held out a white handkerchief. _“You’re bleeding.”_

Absently grabbing the proffered cloth, the Doctor watched Rose laugh again at something that man said and pressed the cotton to his bleeding fingers. It didn’t matter, the wound already closed. It’d be naught more than a memory by the time this cursed party finished.

“Are you okay?” the kid asked again.

Caught between snapping at the poor kid and ignoring him, the Doctor tore his gaze from Rose and blinked down.

“Yeah. I’m always all right.” It came out more softly, more heartbroken than he meant.

Turning sharply on his heel, he turned his back on Rose, physically if not metaphorically, and crossed to anywhere but there.

“You don’t look all right,” the kid muttered.

Once again the Doctor looked down at him, frowning. His thumb absently rubbed his wedding band and though he tried to talk himself out of the darkness already clouding him, the best he managed was a nod.

Because Rose promised him (forever) and they picked out rings and all right, sure, they hadn’t exactly consummated their marriage in the traditional Earth sense, but that didn’t matter. He wanted her, oh he wanted Rose, but he didn’t want to rush into anything and mess it all up. There were a lot of years between them and a lot of emotions to sort through.

Huh—that was the Donna in him, this emotional sorting business. Had to be.

Far as the Doctor was concerned, they’d been married since somewhere around him giving her a key and promising to return. 

(He conveniently forgot Mickey had still been in her life then.)

“That your girl over there?”

“Don’t you have trays to carry around?” he snapped nastily. He sucked in a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry. That was...that was uncalled for.” He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck and shook his head. “What was your name?”

“Tom,” the kid replied warily. “Tom Jones.”

Eyeing him suspiciously, he didn’t look like the 60s singer or a foundling, the Doctor grinned and shoved his hands into his pockets, rocked back on the heels of his chucks.

Rose hadn’t blinked an eye when he tugged on his white chucks with the tux. She smiled and kissed him—and that was when he barely restrained himself from tearing off that lovely gown and leaving it a beautiful heap on the floor.

He looked over his shoulder to where she stood. The man she still talked with wore regular shoes with his tux. How boring! Or maybe she liked the traditional— _boring_ —ensemble. The probably not-cursed tux and the shiny black shoes and the pockets that were ‘normal’, regular size on the inside.

He never asked. One in a long line of things he never asked her. Donna’s voice echoed in his head: _Because you’re a great big outer space dunce, that’s why!_ He couldn’t disagree.

The Doctor sniffed and turned back to his new friend. “I’m the Doctor, nice to meet you.”

Tom eyed him again. “The Doctor?”

The Doctor nodded. He did so love this part.

“Doctor what?”

The Doctor deflated. “You’re supposed to say Doctor Who,” he muttered. Then shrugged. “Just the Doctor.”

Tom nodded again. “Whatever, mate. You sure you’re all right?”

“Course!” He cleared his throat. “Just a little accident.”

His fingers throbbed in bleak time to his heart. They didn’t hurt, his fingers, but his heart ached, a hollowed out feeling that made him want to curl in a ball. “Didn’t mean to break anything.”

“No worries, my Gran always says to add in 10% breakage and loss during these big to-dos.” Tom shrugged. “I’ll dump it in the trash with the rest of them.”

“Your Gran?” The Doctor looked around as if the woman might pop up next to them. “She’s the caterer?”

“Yeah. She and my Gramps own Connolly Catering.” Tom looked around, presumably for the same reason and whispered, “Gran does all the work though. Gramps is usually in his shed tinkering with stuff.”

The Doctor grinned widely. His heart still ached, but he expertly pushed that aside. And if he looked over his shoulder to see Rose, well, he did. So there. But Rose wasn’t talking to that same man, she disappeared.

He looked around the room for her and instantly spotted her—talking to Jackie. Oh no, he absolutely did not want Jackie’s two cents in that conversation.

The Doctor already had to hear about a ‘proper wedding’ and ‘grandchildren’ and ‘How are you going to support Rose’ as if Rose wasn’t doing a fantastic job of supporting herself and ‘No teaching Tony about alien stuff’ as if being the son of the Director of Torchwood was somehow the Doctor’s fault.

He didn’t also need to hear about what a pathetically poor choice he was as a son-in-law.  
He already knew that, thank you. Didn’t need it repeated.

That other man could probably provide all sorts of things for Rose. A house and jewelry and stability and normalness…and _stuff_. Not that Rose ever really showed interest in that sort of thing, but what did he have to offer her?

He couldn’t provide for her. And frankly he didn’t much want to get a job, either, despite the one he currently had at Torchwood. That was temporary until they figured out what they wanted to do.

And, if the Doctor was honest, to pass the time until Baby TARDIS was ready to go. So what if all he had to offer Rose was inter-galactic space travel…in a few years. He sniffed. Better than diamonds, that.

He looked to Rose again, still unhappily listening to Jackie. Really, he should rescue her. But his throat still felt tight and his heart ached and he honestly didn’t trust himself not to blurt out something stupid and resentful and hurtful he’d never be able to take back. So he resolutely turned to his new friend.

“Your Gran, eh? Tom, my boy, let’s go meet her.” With one last glace at Rose, he steered Tom in the direction of the kitchens. “Was she the one who came up with those mini cheesesteaks? Brilliant!”

Christine Connolly was a tall, beautiful woman who didn’t look old enough to be anyone’s grandmother. Her jet black hair was pulled tight in a bun and she moved around the kitchens with all the authority of a general. More so than some generals the Doctor knew.

“Tommy there you are!” she called and pulled up short. “Ah, hello. Can I help you?”

Like Gran like grandson, the woman eyed him cautiously. Probably wondering if he was going to complain.

“Hello, I’m the Doctor. And Tom here was just telling me you’re the one who made these brilliant mini-cheesesteaks.”

“Ah.” Christine relaxed. “Yes.”

And that was how the Doctor found himself in the kitchens with Christine Connolly of Connolly Caterings and Tom Jones, her grandson—neither singer nor foundling.

Because he was not pouting. No. He was not. Time Lords did not pout. Or hide. They did not. _Not even meta-crisis Time Lords, thank you stupid little voice inside my head that sounded suspiciously like Donna._

“You sure you’re all right?” Tom asked again an hour or so later.

The Doctor and Christine spent that time talking over servers’ heads and around moving bodies. About her husband and their catering business, about Tommy when the lad wasn’t in the area. About Young Tom and his older siblings and Christine’s other grandchildren. Then she’d gone off to double check something or other. Which left him alone in the kitchens, relatively speaking.

“You looked like your heart was ripped out of your chest and stomped on.”

The Doctor grimaced at the metaphor. Accurate though it might ( _might_ ) be, it was really gross. “Oh that.”

He waved it away as he filled more glasses with champagne. Christine insisted if he was going to loiter in the kitchens he had to work. The Doctor didn’t tell her the one and only time he played at catering was at another Tyler function and they were invaded by Cybermen.

Maybe even this brand new tux was unlucky…

“That your wife out there?” Tom tried again.

“Rose.” He said her name quickly, the word a caress of every feeling he ever had or would ever have for the magnificent woman.

“I think she’s looking for you,” Tom ventured. “When I was out there just now she looked like she was lookin’ for you.”

“Did she look angry?” the Doctor asked. He stopped pouring champagne and eyed Tom.

For the last hour he deftly ignored the glare from the man whose job it _was_ to pour champagne and now had to serve with the masses. More importantly, he blocked out the sound of Rose’s laugh and the look on her face when she smiled up at that man.

He ignored his heart thudding against his ribs and echoing a plea to find Rose.

He had not, however, managed to ignore the memory of Rose’s flirty smile directed at a stranger. Or, in his rather annoying but continued honesty, her flirty smile directed at anyone not him. Was that selfish? Possibly, the Doctor couldn’t tell any more.

The whole self-honesty thing was just _wizard_ , thank you Donna. 

All he knew was that he did not hide, thank you; he needed to be alone with his thoughts. Plus he promised Rose he wouldn’t sneak out tonight no matter how boring. Unless it was with her. But he couldn’t quite manage to face her just yet.

Hence the not-hiding.

“Not angry,” Tom said slowly. “More like…” he scrunched his nose up. “Nervous? Anxious? Tense? Worried, maybe.”

“Thank you, Mr. Walking Thesaurus,” the Doctor muttered.

“Too many adjectives?” Tom asked earnestly. “I’m working on a book—” he looked around the kitchens but no one paid the pair of them any mind. “I’m trying to be descriptive with the best word possible, but there are a lot of words that mean the same thing.”

The Doctor opened his mouth to delve into the wonders that were the English language. Diversionary tactic? Only maybe. But Tom beat him to it.

“So I’d say your Rose looked…sad.”

That hit him in the gut.

“Sad?” His voice rose slightly.

Oh, that wasn’t good. Rose should never be sad. Had he not spent hours and days and _trips_ making her smile? Seeing her grin and hearing her laugh and making sure she was never, ever sad?

“What’d you two fight about?” Tom asked.

“Fight?” The Doctor repeated. “We didn’t fight. We…”

“Forget her birthday?”

“Rose’s birthday is in April,” he said, confused.

“Anniversary?” Tom asked with a look at the Doctor’s fingers.

“No,” he snapped testily.

“Mess up her Christmas present?”

“I haven’t even got her one yet!” The Doctor yelped.

“It’s only a couple weeks away,” Tom reminded him unnecessarily. He folded his arms over his thin chest and glared like he was personally affronted the Doctor hadn’t yet managed the Best Christmas Gift Ever. “Are you like them blokes who wait until Christmas Eve to get her something?”

The Doctor glared at the boy. “No. I’m planning the perfect Christmas surprise for her.”

Tom’s eyes brightened. “Oh? What’re you going to go?”

He was most definitely _not_ telling Tom that. The Doctor sniffed. “I don’t know,” he admitted, defeated. “This is our first Christmas together and—”

“Blimey,” Tom asked, eyes wide again. “How long have you known her?”

“Rose?” The Doctor looked up, one eye squinted. “Years.”

Two years, nine months, fifteen days, and oh, maybe three hours. Plus the time here, so another—

“What?” he asked.

“I said.” Tom narrowed his eyes and his arms found their way back over his chest. “If you’ve known her for years, how can this be your first Christmas?”

“We traveled!” he spluttered. Then sighed. “And then…something happened and…and we were…separated.” It was the kindest way to describe what had truly happened.

For almost another three years, two if one did not count that Year that Wasn’t, but he remembered every minute of that year and missed Rose terribly. Even if he thought it was the universe’s one gift to him—Rose never meeting the Master—he counted that time.

“Oh.” Tom paused and looked sheepish. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” The Doctor swallowed. Cleared his throat and returned to pouring champagne. Just how many bottles did Pete buy?

“If you like traveling, maybe you should go someplace?” Tom ventured. He pulled up a stool and sat, head in hand. “Where’ve you been? Go someplace she likes maybe.”

The Doctor opened his mouth to refute that—they hadn’t really been any place on Earth—when he remembered his company. Telling Tom that Baby TARDIS wasn’t ready for travel only invited questions the Doctor wasn’t going to answer.

“How about the beach?” Tom asked. “Spain, maybe, yeah? Or Egypt?”

“No beaches.” The Doctor shuddered. “No.”

Tom frowned at him. “Mountains? Skiing?”

All the Doctor could see was Rose on Woman Wept and her absolute wonder as they walked over frozen oceans and beneath their magnificent waves.

“Maybe,” he agreed softly.

“Traveling is out.” Tom nodded authoritatively. “How about a quiet night home? None of this Vitex work. You’re obviously high up if you’re here.”

“What? Oh—” The Doctor waved him off and from a passing tray grabbed spicy sausage and popped it in his mouth. “No, I don’t work for them. That’s all Rose.”

“Then maybe take her away from it. These corporate types always work too hard.” Tom eyed him again. “Has she said what she wants? You know, dropped hints?”

The Doctor frowned again. Had she? They talked of sightseeing and spending time together. Of just the two of them and this new world they found themselves on.

“You don’t know what she wants?” Tom asked, once more incredulous.

“I don’t,” the Doctor admitted slowly and realized wherein his mistake lay. “I never asked.”

What had she said in the archives? About no one ever asking her?

“There you are!” Rose said from the doorway. She grinned and looked so relieved the Doctor wanted to hold her and promise never to leave her. “I should’ve known you’d be in the kitchens.”

Beside him, Tom meeped in surprise. The Doctor looked at him askance and tried a Doctorly grin on for Rose. Who frowned. Of course she saw straight through him.

“Just making friends with Tom here. His Gran owns the catering company.” The Doctor forced his limbs to move and rounded the counter to stand before her. Then, unable not to, gathered her close. And sighed when she hugged him back.

“Oh!” Christine said and blanched when she saw Rose. The Doctor frowned. “Ms. Tyler! I didn’t…is there anything the matter?”

Rose smiled gently. “It’s Mrs. Tyler,” she said and grinned up at him. The fist clutching the Doctor’s heart eased. “Just looking for my errant husband.”

Christine made the same odd meeping sound Tom had. The Doctor frowned again but Rose slipped her hand into his and that fist eased a little more.

“Husband?” Christine managed. Wide-eyed, she looked at the Doctor, glanced at their joined hands, then back at Rose. “Course, course. He was just… just talking with Tom here.”

“Tom, lovely to meet you.” Rose smiled at the lad, who hadn’t yet closed his mouth. “Um, we need to get going,” Rose said awkwardly and stepped back. “Thanks for keeping him out of trouble.”

Christine and Tom nodded silently and the Doctor smiled as he followed Rose from the kitchens. They hadn’t seemed odd when they were all talking, he couldn’t imagine what caused them to gape so unbecomingly now.

“You been in there the entire time?” Rose asked with that smile, the laugh in her voice. But her fingers were tight around his and the Doctor thought maybe she missed him as much as he had her this last hour.

Or maybe she thought he left. As he feared she’d leave with tall perfectly normal human male she smiled and flirted with. 

“Not the entire time,” the Doctor hedged.

They walked through the ballroom, keeping to the edges, skirted around the orchestra, and headed straight for the doors. He breathed a sigh of relief. Then that fist round his heart, which was just beginning to fade, clutched tight once more. Did that mean they had to talk? That he had to admit to seeing her flirting with someone else? And the raging inferno of his jealousy?

At that moment instead of anything raging or an inferno, the Doctor felt hollowed out and empty. Only Rose’s hand in his grounded him.

She leaned her head on his arm as they waited for their coats then waited for the doorman to whistle over a taxi. Even in the cold December wind, her warmth seeped through their clothing and tingled along his skin. He wanted to wrap himself around it—her. Wanted to hold her close and try and make her understand.

Inside the dark warmth of the taxi, with the hum of the engine and heater, the muted sounds of the radio and occasional squeak of the wipers, Rose leaned against his arm once again. She sighed and relaxed and without quite thinking it, the Doctor shifted so his arm wrapped around her shoulders and he held her as close as possible, fully clothed and in the back of a taxi.

Even with her warmth, her body pressed to his, her hand in his, he tried to think of a way to get round the fact of Rose and that man, but only managed to remember her looking up at him with that smile.

The ride to their flat wasn’t long, despite traffic, and long before the Doctor was ready they climbed out of the car and he paid the fare. With real money. Which happened to be Rose’s. Because he didn’t have any of his own.

“I wanted you to meet someone,” Rose murmured. They waited for the lift in the brightly lighted lobby, hand still in his, head once again on his shoulder. “A friend of mine.”

“The man you were flirting with?” He asked before he had the chance to bite off his tongue.


	3. I’m no one in this world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m no one in this world and have nothing to offer you. Why would you possibly love me?

At his caustic question Rose’s hand slipped from his and her head shot up from his shoulder. She opened her mouth then closed it. Eyes narrowed, she followed him into the lift. To keep his hands busy, he jabbed the button for their floor several dozen times in rapid succession. He didn’t look at Rose for a long minute, staring at the shiny lift doors, but knew her gaze didn’t waver.

“Who was he?” He asked casually.

Rose wasn’t fooled. His ‘casual’ needed serious help.

“Andrew Nurzai,” she said coolly. “He’s a very good friend of mine. Is that why you disappeared?”

The lift dinged before he knew it, but neither exited. The Doctor caught the doors as they closed and without looking at Rose, the gap between lift and floor was _fascinating_ , gestured for her to exit.

She swept by him in a cloud of sparkling silver and perfume and Rose and anger. Hands shoved in his pockets, he followed her down the hallway. Her back was ramrod straight and her steps clipped on the tile floor.

“I didn’t disappear,” he tried. The words echoed dully in the bright, empty hallway.

At their door she spun around and jabbed him in the chest. The Doctor didn’t try and stop her. Her eyes blazed a deep green-brown with anger, mouth tight at the corners.

“I wanted to introduce my _husband_ to my friends,” Rose snapped. “I have like three friends in this world because I spent all my time trying to get back—” Her voice broke and so did his heart.

“Rose—”

_“No.”_

She drew in a deep breath and swallowed hard. Stepped back and dropped her hand. Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose and when she looked up at him again, her gaze was bleak and damaged.

“No you don’t get to justify,” she snapped but it sounded exhausted, drained. “Andrew is the only friend I have outside Torchwood. He’s on Vitex’s board and was nice to me when Pete introduced me as his daughter and never once gossiped about my supposed origins or whether or not I was in it for the money.”

“He wants you,” the Doctor said before he thought through the words.

Honestly, all that time _not_ talking about his feelings and hers and theirs, and this is how he handled it? No wonder he never said anything. He’d have bullocks it up no matter what.

“He has made his intentions clear.” Rose nodded slowly but she didn’t look triumphant or righteous or even angry. She looked sad. “But he knows full well I spent all my time trying to get back to you. And he was happy for me when I said—”

Her laugh was bitter and hard. “But I guess we’re not really married, eh? Since you don’t seem to think it matters and run off first sign of someone’s interest in me.”

“What do I have to offer you?” Unbidden, the words exploded with enough force to shock even him.

The Doctor stalked forward and pressed her against the door. Looked into her eyes, dark with hurt and anger and memories. Took her face in his hands and felt the flush of her cheeks and the softness of her skin and broke down.

“I have nothing, Rose. _Nothing._ I have no money, I can’t give you anything.” He shook his head but it all flowed from him, lifetimes of unworthiness to lie at her feet. “It’ll be _years_ before Baby TARDIS is anywhere near ready for travel. I hate working at Torchwood, I only do it to pinch parts for Baby TARDIS and to fill my time so I don’t go mad.”

“What about you?” she whispered. She stood perfectly still, eyes steady on his, not struggling or running or pushing him away.

The Doctor snapped his mouth shut. “What about me?” he asked, voice lowered and confused.

“I don’t care about money, I have more than enough of it now and that’s never mattered to me.” Her hand rested on his heart, warm and solid and so very real.

“I only worked for Torchwood to give me something to do in this universe so _I_ didn’t go spare. And I’m very, _very_ good at it. And then, when the stars…I used them to find you again.” Her fingers curled into his white shirt, still directly over his heart. “I don’t want to spend my life doing that.”

He wanted to ask whether she meant she didn’t want to spend her life at Torchwood or spend her life finding him again but was nowhere near brave enough.

Rose cleared her throat and slipped her hand up his neck, around the back of it, fingers teasing the ends of his hair. “I know it’ll be a while before Baby TARDIS is ready, but Doctor do you really think that’s why I…” she paused, licked her lips. “That’s why I love you?”

She sniffed and his anger fractured around him in glittering shards. The truth was, “I don’t know why you love me.”

Her mouth opened in a silent _O_. She stared up at him but he couldn’t read her. He thought he knew her so well, so very well from that first meeting through this last on the beach and the weeks they spent here, slowly reacquainting themselves.

Nervous, scared, and severely out of his depth, the Doctor stepped back. Where was Donna’s human, emotional help now? Sure, for once the Donna voice in the back of his head remained silent.

Rose’s face closed off and he hastily unlocked their door and pushed it open. Once inside, the door relocked, their coats in the closet, he turned back to her.

“I don’t.” He sniffed and looked at the ceiling, right there so he thought he could touch it, not a soaring column in sight. “I don’t know why you love me. I’ve never understood how you could.”

She made a little gasp, a disbelieving sound, and the Doctor didn’t understand that, either. How could anyone love an old, broken man like him? One who ran and ran and never looked back? Want to see the stars? Sure, no problem. But the secrets in his hearts (heart) were for him and him alone.

But he wanted, desperately wanted, to make this life work with Rose. He didn’t mind that they moved slowly—slept in the same bed and kissed (which was unbelievable and why had they never done that before?) and talked. He didn’t want to mess this—all of it, any of it—up with her.

“You daft alien,” she sighed. “I don’t love you for your TARDIS, though I do love Her.”

He eyed her carefully and Rose stepped closer. “I don’t love you for your sonic screwdriver, but please never leave home without it.”

He might’ve managed a grin if he wasn’t so confused. But her mouth relaxed and her shoulders eased, and the light in her eyes shone again. Wherever she went with this, he didn’t care—as long as she looked happy again. Well…he maybe cared a little.

But if she were breaking things off with him, she wouldn’t look this happy, this relaxed. Right? Right. Of course right.

“I don’t love you because you show me impossible worlds and take me places I’ve only ever dreamed about.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers once again playing with the tips of his hair. His heart thudded wildly and the Doctor wondered it didn’t thump right out of his chest. This whole non-regulating thing was for the birds. Or humans. Whatever.

“I love you because you saw something in me I didn’t know existed. You trusted me when no one else did. You listened and understood and when you said you’d do something, you did, no matter what or when it was convenient. You never let me down.”

Her eyes glistened with tears and though panicked, his hands settled on her waist and the Doctor listened. Because he really had nothing to say, not in the wake of Rose’s confession.

“If all we did was travel round Earth I wouldn’t have cared. Or, hell, around England. Traveling was…” Rose sighed. “It was great.” But she looked happy and light and he wanted to capture the look on her face and remember it forever.

However long that was.

“But it wasn’t why I love you.”

He licked his lips. Fingers digging into her hips, body pressed intimately with hers, he managed to croak, “Why do you?”

“Because you make me a better person.”

The Doctor blinked. He understood the words (billions of languages in his head, thanks) but he didn’t _understand_ them. Separately they all made sense, but together they sounded…like a benediction.

“What?”

Rose kissed him, a simple, gentle touch of her lips to his. Almost chaste. But he felt her smile and so he felt himself relax.

“Doctor, you showed me how to live. Not merely exist. You always said you traveled for traveling not to rush around saving people, but you did it anyway. You never let anyone or anything stop you.”

She shook her head and let her fingertips brush over his cheek, his jaw, his lips. “You didn’t do it for glory or medals or pride. You did it to help.”

“Rose.” But he had nothing to follow up on that. Nothing. He only had her and she was in his arms. Where she belonged.

“I love you because you make me laugh. You show me a part of yourself you didn’t want to, not the manic alien rushing through time and space, but the man beneath that.”

She sighed and looked misty eyed, and the Doctor felt his throat close with her declaration. He swallowed hard but the lump stayed firm.

“The man who made me breakfast every day I was with him. The one who held me when I cried over Mickey. Who held me and comforted me when we lost the TARDIS or I lost my face. The one who danced with me around the TARDIS. The one who protected me at the expense of his own life.”

Once more he opened his mouth to—refute? Agree? Beg her to stay with him? The Doctor didn’t know because once again Rose Tyler rendered him speechless.

“That was all you, Rose.” He swallowed hard, but his voice was thick still. “ _You_ made _me_ a better man. Showed me the wonders of the universe I wanted to show you. Reminded me of them.”

The Doctor drew in another breath and slowly released it as if that might help calm his heart and stop his racing mind. It didn’t. All it did was bring Rose’s scent to him, the lushness that was her skin, her warmth, her life.

“I saw you with him,” he said slowly. Words halting as they were torn from him. “And all I thought was that of course you found someone else here. Who wouldn’t love you?”

She hit him.

“Ow!” He rubbed his shoulder. “What was that for?”

Eyes narrowed she snapped, “If I found someone else here do you really think I’d agree to the rings?”

She held up her hand as if he had no idea what she was talking about. And hit him again. Harder. Much harder. The Doctor made a muffled grumbling sound but remained silent this time.

“What happened to the commitment we promised each other? And the rings. Think I wear a ring with just any bloke who wants me to?” She stepped from his arms and crossed hers over her chest.

“I didn’t—” He tugged his ear. “I didn’t really think about that.”

She glared, eyes narrowed, lips a thin line of anger and hurt. Oh, he’d bullocks this up hadn’t he. In his head, Donna laughed at him: _You great big outer space dunce._

All the breath left him at once and he sank to the sofa. Head in his hands, he scrubbed his fingers over his face, through his hair. When he looked up at her again, it was to find her looking exasperatedly at him, but the fondness in her gaze remained unmistakable.

“Rose, every day we traveled together, I lived in fear that day was the day you’d ask to go home.”

Her mouth opened in shock but no sound emerged.

“I was so scared you wouldn’t travel with me anymore, I kept us moving. Even when we were trapped in Kyoto for those weeks and you kept up with me when we hid from the warlord. When you told me you wouldn’t leave me when I wanted you to stay with the women and children. I was so afraid you’d want to go home afterward, I almost begged Jack to convince you otherwise.”

She sank to the floor in front of him and took his hands. Squeezed tightly. He tore his gaze from his knees to meet hers and forgot how to breathe.

“Why don’t you ever listen?” she asked but her voice was a gentle caress of wonder. “Doctor, how many times do I have to tell you I’m not leaving you? What more do I have to do to prove it to you?”

He opened his mouth but only a very unbecoming squeak emerged. Rose’s lips twitched and her fingers brushed through his hair .

“You daft man,” she repeated fondly. “I hope you know me well enough by now to know I’d never agree to forever or wear your ring or live in the same flat as you and share a bed if I didn’t love you.”

“I love you, too, Rose.” He moved then, tugged her into his arms and held her tight.

There was a slight ripping sound, and Rose grunted, but she hiked her dress over her legs and settled on his lap. Buried her face in his neck and breathed deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her skin. “I’m no good at this relationship thing.” He drew her up, brushing her hair off her cheeks and cradled her face—the most precious thing in his entire life. “Just don’t leave me.”

The broken words of fear and hope splinted from his lips. The Doctor shuddered, his single heart too rapid against his chest, fear hollowing his belly and closing his throat. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Doctor,” Rose said seriously. A whisper of pain between them. “You were always the one to leave me.”

He nodded then, unable not to agree. “I know. I’m sorry.” The words tumbled from him, honest and real and painful. “I never wanted to. I just...I just wanted you safe and alive and it didn’t matter what happened to me, I only wanted you to live.”

“No more, eh?” Her fingers wrapped around his wrists. “No more of that. Whatever we decide to do in this life, in this world, we do it together, yeah?”

“Yes.” He agreed and kissed her, a desperate press of lips. “Yes.”

She deepened the kiss, tilted her head to get the angle just right, and sank into him. The Doctor sighed, and tangled his hands in her hair. Held her closer. Slid his hand over bare shoulders and along her exposed back.

His eyes never left hers as he slid the side zipper of her dress down and carefully parted the sparkly material. His gaze never left hers, hers gentle and tender on his and dark. So very dark, the green-brown of her eyes. He needed Rose.

Why had they ever waited?

It didn’t matter now, and he let the material slide down her skin like a silver waterfall. She was bare beneath the dress.

“Rose.” Her name was a strangled plea on his tongue.

“Not wearing any knickers, either,” she said on a moan.

“If I knew that, we’d never have left the bedroom,” he growled.

Pulling her against him, he kissed her. Hard. Deep. Taking and giving and it didn’t even matter anymore. His love. Hands cupping her face and brushing her hair off her cheeks, he poured every ounce of affection and love he had into that single kiss, exploring her mouth, her taste.

Rose exploded across his senses, overpowering the very human senses he found himself saddled with. And he didn’t care. Because she was all that mattered and the Doctor wanted all of her. She wrapped herself around him and kissed him back.

She ground against him and he growled into her mouth. Against her throat.

“Rose.” He pulled back, breathing heavy. “I don’t want to make love to you on the sofa.” He had to swallow hard, but his control was on the brink.

He pulled her back to him and kissed her again, fingers rolling her nipples to hard, pebbled peaks. She shuddered in his arms, hips rocking against his.

“Floor then, I don’t care.”

He almost laughed, but rumbled her name instead. Rose shivered against him and grabbed his face. Kissed him hard, a sloppy mess of tongue and teeth and it was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

Undeterred, he helped her stand, mouth still on hers, and managed to get his own legs beneath him. He didn’t carry her down the hall to the bedroom, romantic though that might be. He didn’t have the coherence to pick her up and do so, what with her gloriously curvy body in nothing more than strappy heels pressed against him.

They fell to the bed in a tangle of grasping hands and messy kisses, and the Doctor cradled her against him. Mouth on hers, hands cupping her glorious bum, his aching hardness pressed to her warm, wet softness.

She arched against him, leg wrapping around his waist, and tugged on his clothing. The Doctor growled and rolled away from her to struggle with the button to his trousers.

Rose followed him, pressed against his back, fingers nimble on his bowtie and jacket, shedding both quickly. She nipped his war and he snapped. Whatever control he had, however limited, vanished. Disappeared in Rose’s taste and Rose’s touch and Rose’s skin beneath his fingers and Rose’s mouth on his skin.

“Rose,” he growled. Moaned, pleaded, begged, sighed.

He tore off his shirt and fumbled with his sneakers before pulling her onto the bed. Blanketing her body with his, he kissed down her throat, nipping the tender skin. “Rose.”

She laid spread out beneath him—open and vulnerable, eyes heavy with arousal and love and need. All she was she offered him in that gaze, and it humbled him. No. He didn’t deserve her. But he had her, she wanted him, and whatever deity or karma or _whatever_ saw fit to bestow the gift of Rose Tyler’s love, he accepted.

He needed to feel her skin against his. To run is tongue over her flesh, her scent on his tongue, her arousal all for him. Taste all she offered.

Her nipples, dusky and hard, tasted like heaven in his mouth. Her sigh drifted over his skin and when he tugged on one hardened peak, she gasped his name. Her fingers cupped the back of his head, pressed him to her. And her arousal, a glorious perfume in the air, beckoned him lower.

“Doctor,” Rose cried, back arched off the bed and hips rocking against his.

“Not yet. Not yet, Rose,” he chanted, tugging her other nipple into his mouth.

He intended to worship her. Every taste and sigh and plea he wanted burned into his impressive memory. He wanted to make her come again and again, with mouth and teeth and fingers, until she sobbed with the pleasure of it all.

Breathe her in. Hold her close.

Because she was alive and here and they were together. And he had no intentions of wasting one more moment. Not wait until Christmas, not until tomorrow. No more waiting. Never again.

His fingers were rough; the Doctor knew it but couldn’t ease them from her. He’d leave bruises and knew he’d be sorry later, but wanted them. Wanted to mark her. His. (Hers.)

He sucked on her hip, laved the mark, and kissed lower. Breathed in the magnificent scent of her arousal and scraped his teeth over her clit, roughly thrust two fingers into her. Rose cried out, her orgasm hot and fast. Tasted the ambrosia that was her pleasure. Her hips bucked against him and she cried out again.

“Doctor,” she repeated, a plea for more.

She tightened around him and he moved his fingers harder, deeper. Tasted all she offered and pushed her over the edge. Rose ground against his hand, his mouth, incoherent cries on her lips.

He brought her up again, a swift return, and just as she was about to climax, slowly withdrew. Rose cried out, fingers digging into his shoulder, his scalp, body throbbing and he _heard_ her. The desperate pant for more, her heart racing, the heat of her blood, and the siren’s call of her arousal.

The Doctor pulled back, cock hard, desperation pounding through him, and looked at his beautiful wife.

Eyes bright with need, beautiful skin flushed with heat and need and the marks of his own desperate need, nipples hard and red and hips lightly bruised from his fingers. Her legs opened even wider to him and he could see her wetness. It permeated everything and he willingly drowned in it.

The Doctor licked his lips and Rose blinded him to all else.

She trembled beneath his gaze and was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen in any of his lives.

“I need you, Rose.” The confession ripped from his throat.

He knelt between her legs, fingers brushing her wetness, her swollen heat, and breathed her in. He gently lifted her right ankle and kissed his way up. Placed gentle kisses on her sex but quickly moved to her other leg. His tongue traced her name in Gallifreyan over the inside of her thigh.

“I’ll never be able to get enough of you.” He brushed his lips against her skin and each inhalation of her love-need-want.

Rose trembled beneath him, fingers gentle now as they danced over his shoulders, down his spine, tangled in his hair. But he continued worshipping her. Loving her.

“Doctor,” she sighed.

He skimmed his fingers up her inner thighs, over her hips, up her belly to her breasts. Settling between her legs, the Doctor pressed the underside of his aching cock to her clit and rocked against her, teasing her. Eyes on his, she trembled, chest heaving for breath, hips rocking in perfect rhythm against him.

“I’ll never leave you, Rose.” He promised. “Please.” His voice broke and he kissed her hard. “Please don’t ever leave me.”

“Never,” Rose breathed, and the strength of her love nearly blinded him. She wound herself around him, hips still moving in gentle time with his. “I’ll never leave you.”

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

He didn’t deserve her. He knew it.

Rose gasped and arched into his touch, a strangled cry on her lips. “I love you. I always have. Always will. I love you.”

His breath caught and her confession bloomed warm and complete though him. The Doctor breathed in a ragged breath and pressed his lips to hers.

“Rose.” He chanted. “Rose.”

She took him in her hand, fingers gentle, and guided him into her. Perfection. He shuddered and rocked deeper, thrust harder, unable not to. Maybe next time he’d have more control, but now, their first, it unraveled around him until it didn’t matter.

“Come for me, my Rose,” he begged and kissed her.

Face buried in his shoulder, arms and legs wrapped around him, Rose rocked harder against him. Her teeth sank into his skin as she came, a long keening sound of release. Her heels dug sharply into his arse and her back arched off the bed.

“I can’t let you go,” the Doctor admitted as he moved faster, his own orgasm a tight knot at the base of his spine. “I don’t know how to. I need you beside me. I need your hand in mine.”

“You’ve always had that, Doctor,” she promised.

Whatever control he had, snapped. With one final thrust, he emptied himself into her and trusted Rose to keep him safe. 

********  
“This was not how I envisioned our first time together,” he confessed.

They lay in bed, hours later, wrapped in a sheet and each other. The Doctor shifted to bring her even closer to him. He’d never get enough of her.

“Hmm?” Rose asked on a breath. “How’d you envision it then?”

“There was more.” He frowned. “I had this whole Christmas event planned out.”

She snorted but didn’t move. “You had a plan?”

“Well...no.” He grinned unrepentant. “I was working on that part. Wasn’t sure what to get you for Christmas, but the end result was the same.”

“Hmm?” She repeated and rested her head on his chest, over his single heart. “We can certainly repeat this _end result_ as often as you like.”

The Doctor chuckled and closed his eyes. One hand clasped hers, the other traced her name in Gallifreyan over her bare shoulder, using her delightful mole as the focal point.

“Oh.” He grunted and stilled.

Rose looked up from where she sprawled, boneless, atop him. “Hmm?”

Her eyes were still heavy with need, though her voice held the quiet quality of utter satisfaction. The Doctor grinned and resumed stroking her naked back. Over each vertebra, the feel of her warm skin a balm to his soul.

“I just remembered. I promised Jackie we’d help decorate the tree next Sunday.”

She snorted and laid her head back on his chest, ear to his heart. “How’d she manage that?”

The Doctor debated telling Rose he thought of asking Jackie for help with her Christmas present. As he debated it, however, she lifted her head once again and watched him.

“I was going to ask her for help on your Christmas present,” he admitted in a rushed breath.

Rose watched him for another minute, eyes wide, mouth ajar. Then she snickered.

“Oi!” he protested. But grinned widely. “I was desperate!”


	4. Best Christmas Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first Christmas of the Doctor and Rose’s Best Christmas Ever

They decorated the family tree with Jackie, Pete, and Tony and even stayed for Sunday dinner.

It wasn’t that the Doctor didn’t enjoy himself, he had. Very much. He adored Rose’s family and Jackie still made him feel welcomed, despite her nagging about jobs and support and whatever all else he long ago learned to block out. Tony looked up to the Doctor as much as he did Rose, and Pete respected him.

All familial entertaining aside, the Doctor _finally_ had a plan for his Christmas present to Rose and didn’t want to wait another minute before giving it to her.

On their way back to their flat she looked over at him and frowned. “It’s not a house, is it?”

He spluttered and glared hotly. “Oi! Rose Tyler, you take that back!”

Rose giggled and returned her attention to the road. “Okay, no house. What is it then?”

Huffing, he glared another moment then shook his head. “It’s a surprise and telling would ruin it.”

“I hate surprises,” she muttered.

He reached over and rested his hand on her thigh. Beneath his fingers her denim-clad her muscles clenched. Not in the pleasant pre-orgasm way, either, but in the tense, experience has made me unhappy way.

“I know. But it’s not that sort of surprise. It’s a present, that’s all. A Christmas present.”

Rose nodded and relaxed, but he left his hand where it rested. Well, maybe not left it. His fingers slowly circled over the rough material and slid up the inside of her thigh. He didn’t deliberately arouse, though her body heated and the alluring scent of her arousal called to him.

Slowly, down to her knee then up nearly to her glorious heat, skimmed over her sex then back down.

“Don’t start anything you can’t finish,” she warned.

But her voice caught and when he next brushed his fingers over her, she shifted in the seat and widened her legs.

“Attention on the road, Rose,” he whispered. “Take this exit,” he instructed, fingers still on the tempting heat of her, barely touching.

They drove like that for another hour. The Doctor’s fingers on her while he gave directions out of London and north. Rose drove faster than normal, but he didn’t know if that was how she drove on roadways not round London or if she was in as much a rush as he.

Just sitting there, touching her heat made him hard. Uncomfortably so, but he didn’t move, afraid if he did, he’d push her too hard. He’d no desire to be in an accident or have her pull over for a quickie on the side of the road.

He may have broken down and spoken with Jackie about his idea, but the execution was all on him.

Finally, the sun long since set, she pulled into the cottage’s driveway. Flicking off the ignition, she arched into his touch and sighed, a whimpery sound that made him clench his jaw and scramble for the thin threads of his control.

“Rose.” It came out more as a growl than anything, and the Doctor pressed hard against her until she gasped.

“Told you not to start anything you couldn’t finish,” she breathed.

It took him a minute. Longer than. But he gathered his control round him until he thought he could speak. Reluctantly moving his hand, he rested it on her thigh once again.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispered.

Rose blinked. Even in the faint glow of the spotlight outside the cottage she looked confused. “What? This?”

“Two weeks away, Rose Tyler. _Mrs._ Rose Tyler,” he corrected himself with a goofy grin he didn’t bother to hide. He lifted her hand and kissed her ring. “You and me and no one around for miles.”

Her breath caught. “Seriously?”

“There was a lot to choose from,” the Doctor admitted and tugged on his ear. “Traveling someplace topped the list, but not for our first Christmas. And you did say you wanted it to just be us. That you didn’t need a gift, just someplace quiet, the two of us.”

“So...cottage?”

He couldn’t place her tone; it was too even for that. Not angry or disappointed, but something…else. But he clearly heard the sudden thudding of her heart, faster than the heavy beats of her arousal.

“You and me, and Baby TARDIS,” he repeated.

Baby TARDIS was too young to be left alone even for the two weeks he’d rented this cottage. Her nutrients needed constant replenishment and monitoring.

“Doctor.” Rose leaned across the seat and grabbed his face. Her kiss was hard and yielding, demanding and thankful.

“I love it.”

“Yeah?” He grinned again. “You haven’t even seen the inside.”

Truth be told, neither had he. It hadn’t been easy, renting a cottage at the last minute that met all his requirements—no neighbors, up-to-date heating plus a fireplace for making love in front of. And a spare bedroom for Baby TARDIS.

They gathered their luggage and Rose carried Baby TARDIS’s habitation. The Doctor unlocked and opened the door, flicked on the lights. Eh, not bad. He nodded and looked around the cozy interior. Not bad at all. Typical English cottage, done in shades of green, with oddly placed arrangements of flowers, but completely modernized.

He set their luggage by the stairs and took the habitation from Rose and set it on the dining room table. The monitor the Doctor fiddled with showed everything perfectly normal and he patted the coral lovingly.

Rose looked around, eyes wide as if they set foot on an alien planet. As wide as when they traveled to Earth’s destruction or Christmas in Cardiff or New Earth.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“There’s a village not far,” he whispered, awed at her awe. “We can walk down there tomorrow. Very small traditional English village, hasn’t really changed in hundreds of years; on Christmas Eve they go a-wassailing if you want.”

She nodded. “Maybe. Yeah. Where are we?”

“Does it matter?”

She turned to look at him and shook her head. “No. No it doesn’t matter,” she agreed softly.

In two quick strides he crossed to her and kissed her. Gently, carefully, the most precious thing in his world. This was for them. The first of their adventures in this new world. All right, maybe not the first—they had their museum day and Norway and Rose had, at least, seen several sites around this world. Even if she hunted for alien wreckage.

But this was theirs. No one else’s. And if they never made it down to the village, who cared?

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Doctor,” she sighed.

He wanted to make love to her in front of the fire, but had no desire to actually start one. It didn’t matter. The cottage was warm enough and he wanted her. He always wanted her.

He walked her backwards, mouth never leaving hers. In the previous week, he learned much about her body. And his. Tonight he wasn’t about exploration but about need.

The Doctor bumped her into the couch, muttered a hasty apology, and sat down, pulling her atop him. Rose ground her hips into his, rocking as she settled over him, knees pressed tight to his hips.

“There’s no fire,” she whispered and tugged his jacket off, fingers already on the buttons of his oxford.

“Get to that later,” he gasped when her fingers ran over his cock.

“Good.” She nodded, but he caught her mouth with his and words no longer mattered.

He quickly stripped her, tossing her clothing without thought to where it landed. He wanted her skin to skin, hot and wet and all his. Rose kicked off her boots and shimmied her jeans down beautifully toned legs, and quickly settled again.

She took him in hand, fingers playing over his hardness with assured skill that came with spending the better part of a week learning him. That desk in the Torchwood archives was finally put to better use than for papers and random stuff.

Rose lifted herself onto her knees, gaze on his in the dimness of this new cottage, and slowly sank over him.

Perfection.

Their breaths mingled in contented sighs as she stopped. The Doctor, now fully seated in the wonderful heat of her, slid his hands up her back and drew her closer. Mouth on his, Rose moved. She rocked slowly, long languid movements that built and built.

Hands on her hips, on her nipples, brushing over her swollen clit, the Doctor touched her. She responded to every touch, every kiss, every brush of his skin on hers. Rose moved faster, nails digging into his shoulders and back, head thrown back to expose the long line of her neck.

When she shattered around him, the Doctor’s control broke. He didn’t let her rest, but gripped her hips tightly and built her up again. He thrust hard and deep and didn’t relent until Rose cried out as her orgasm tore through her.

Still he moved, seeking his own release until it spread through him in a rush of warmth that shot up his spine and spread from there.

Boneless, Rose dropped her head to his shoulder, breathing heavy. He held her, his own breathing too hard and fast. Eventually he lifted his head and looked at her.

“Happy Christmas, Rose.”

********  
There was a light dusting of snow on the ground the next morning. Rose laughed and ran outside in fuzzy socks and his Oxford, wrapped in a plaid blanket. She spun in a circle, head thrown back and was the most beautiful sight he’d seen in over 900 years.

“Next trip needs to be somewhere cold,” she said, eyes still closed as the snow fell on her flushed skin. “I want to play in the snow.”

“All right,” he agreed.

What he meant, of course, was _anything you wish._

Then she laughed and ran the short distance to him, leaping into his arms. “This is what I want to do,” she admitted. “Travel this world with you. Baby TARDIS with us, of course.”

“We’ll need a van,” he agreed. But his lips tasted the cold water on her skin.

“Whatever we need, it doesn’t matter.” She moved until she could see him, serious despite the sheer joy shining in her gaze. “Let’s just go. Rent a cottage or a room or find a bed and breakfast, I don’t care. The benefits of having money.”

“Yes.” he kissed her hard, fast, his grin wide.

He didn’t disagree with her over the money part—it was something he never worried about. He had his TARDIS and sonic to get him what he needed, and if he actually needed money, well, those instances were few and far between and frankly there were usually cash points for that.

“Anything you want,” he promised.

“I want you, Doctor.” She repeated and kissed him, a slow drawn out kiss that he felt clear to his toes, now very cold in their thin slippers. “I love you.”

He carried her inside, careful not to slip on the slick stones of the walkway. In the small kitchen, he set her on the counter but never pulled back. Slipped his hands under the blanket and his shirt and the cool touch of her skin.

“I’ll never leave you,” he promised.

“Good.” Rose punctuated it with a kiss and held him close. “Thank you.”

The Doctor held her for another moment then pulled back and rummaged in the fridge. “Hot chocolate?”

“With marshmallows?” Rose asked from her place on the counter. She leaned back slightly, hair tousled, eyes heavy with renewed arousal, legs still spread side enough to accommodate his body, and watched him.

“Don’t start anything you can’t finish,” he warned. It sounded more like a growl than anything and Rose shivered.

“I plan on two entire weeks of this,” she said. Then she tilted her head. “Did you plan anything else?”

He shrugged and started the burner, carefully pouring the exact amount of milk into the pot for two mugs of coco. He still didn’t need a measuring cup, thank you.

“I wanted our first Christmas together to be the best one ever. We hadn’t really spent any Christmases together,” he added. “And I certainly didn’t want to recreate either of them.”

“I can’t believe we traveled together for years and only spent two Christmases with each other.” Her voice was soft and sad, but when he looked up from stirring the milk her lips tilted in a slight grin.

The Doctor poured their coco into two mugs and set them on the table. He then lifted Rose from the counter and carried her to the table as well. She giggled into his shoulder and wrapped herself around him.

But over the small kitchen table, with the snow swirling outside and the warmth of the two of them, the Doctor only had eyes for her. He watched her sip her drink, made just as she liked it, slightly darker and less sugary than he.

He’d probably need to watch that sugar intake now, what with this human body. If he couldn’t regulate his heart he probably wouldn’t be able to metabolize sugar as quickly. Rubbish. And Donna was so fond of her chocolates. He wondered if he picked that up from her. He still didn’t know all the Donna-isms he inherited, it was a constant learning experience.

Well, no matter; he’d learn to enjoy dark cocoa.

But then Rose looked up and leaned across the table to take his hand. “Happy Christmas, Doctor.”

She watched him with such love, such affection, he forgot all about bodies and metabolism and whatever else he was thinking. Lifting her hand to his lips he kissed her palm.

“I’m so glad I met you, Rose Tyler.” He twined their fingers together.

They never did make it to the village.

Two weeks in a cottage in the middle of Lincolnshire, and they only left the cottage to walk round the wolds and race back to make love. Wrapped around each other as they slept and touched and talked. He held her through the night when nightmares caught her and she soothed him when his own demons clawed at him.

They talked of the future and made a list of all the places they wanted to visit. A list of all the places they wanted to make love—the Doctor’s rather extensive list of places to make Rose Tyler scream expanded exponentially.

It was the Best Christmas Ever.


End file.
